


Intensified Proximity to the Fairer Sex

by HermioneSpencer



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Drama, Elements of comedy if you dig deep enough, F/F, Historical, Impregnable Women AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:11:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermioneSpencer/pseuds/HermioneSpencer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosima is an American spy working with Britain in a fictional World War II, and when Lady Lysistrata gathers together the women of Britannia for their most important mission yet, Cosima finds her skills are needed more than ever.  But this time, it is the sexes of Britain that are warring against each other.</p>
<p>Inspired by Eric Linklater's <em>The Impregnable Women,</em> this is essentially a fic of a fic of a play, the original being Aristophanes' <em>Lysistrata</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blonde Bombshells

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> This first chapter is very close to the book (if you've read it you'll laugh at how much of an understatement that is), but after this, I am deviating from the course of the novel, and making it _better_. It will also have a better ending than the book because the original was _terrible._  
>  I hope you'll join me on this excellent Cophine-ic journey (I hope it will be, I've spent ages chewing over this idea and planning it...) and enjoy it at the same time :D
> 
> HermioneSpencer

_For a good many years the world had been in a state of military eruption.  Violence had replaced culture, and the whole world was on the brink of war.  It cannot be denied that most of the skirmishes between countries in the past five years had been minor affairs, localised in their native areas, but example is the best teacher, and people began to follow those who took charge._

_The cause of this “eruptive condition” was much debated.  Many people blamed the conflict between Communism and Fascism, but for many others, the Jews were the culprits._

_Statisticians said they were the result of over-population; and the Dictators, unchallenged in their sweaty seats of power, replied that peace could be guaranteed if every woman immediately retired to her chamber and set to work to bear three, four or five more children.  Meanwhile, the economists – whose reputation was not what it had been – declared that war was the result of a natural demand for new markets.  Original sin was by some regarded as its propulsive origin, and by others (arguably the most sensible of the lot), inherent stupidity.  Certain ethnologists saw it as an expression of racial ambition, while psychologists spoke of inferiority complexes and humanity’s endemic wish for death._

_The insignificance and emotional dullness of contemporary life were blamed by some observers, who feared that war, with its excitement and seeming intensification of vital experience, would always appeal to workers whose existence, in the industrial state, had been made both tiresome and meaningless.  The desire for wealth, which had become the dominating motive of all civilised individuals – as the expansion of trade was the only serious policy of civilised governments – had apparently something to do with several wars of the period; but no one cared to say much about this fertile origin, for to criticise an activity so highly regarded as the pursuit of riches was both dangerous and indelicate._

_Imperialism, which was fortune-hunting on a national basis, was for a like reason exempt from the criticism of all but a rancorous few.  But whatever the root cause may have been, a growing contempt for international law was certainly contributory to it._

_Britain, in their foreign policy, entertained an unavailing good-will.  They would have liked to be friends with everyone._

_This naïveté led to a foolish attempt to genuinely be friends with_ everyone. _When Hitler made yet another attempt to claim French territory, Britain were fools to continue following this wish, but still, deals of a large amount of money were made, angering the French beyond what a hastily written apology by the Prime Minister of Britain could fix._

_France, much like Britain, had rejected the narrow, uncomfortable stools of Fascism and Communism, though with her historical regard for equality and fraternity she was inclined to think a little more favourably of the latter, more leniently of its disadvantages, than Britain could ever do._

_She was, too, Britain’s nearest neighbour.  She had been its principal ally in the last war; she was bound to it by many ties of mutual interest and individual esteem.  With all of these arguments in favour of a regular alliance, she could not understand why the English should so obstinately prefer their freedom, and often her injured feelings were often very violently expressed.  If one were to create a relationship easy to understand for one who had not experienced the complicated relationship between the English and the French, one would say that France had a very annoying little brother named Britain, who dedicated most of its existence to pissing France off.  Their patience had worn very thin, and the deal Britain made with Germany (£50,000,000 for cultural and educational development in Germany) that was revealed one chilly morning in the Observer, pushed France’s patience too far.  Throughout 1,000 years of annoying the French, Britain had essentially bitch-slapped France and gone to be friends with someone else.  According to the French, the unspoken deal between the two countries followed thus; “We can fight as much as we want between ourselves, zat is fine, but as soon as someone attacks us, you, Britain, must protect us, and… ‘ow you say, kick zeir asses.”  Indignant, France thought to remind her little brother of what he had seemed to have forgotten, to kick him into action to get him to… ‘ow you say, mettre une pâtée à l’Allemagne._

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A couple of hours before the start of the bombardment, a young woman called Cosima Niehaus, who was a teacher of English in a Secondary School in Westminster (or so her neighbour thought) and lived in lodgings on Clytemnestra Road, was awakened very early by her landlady, who brought her breakfast on a tray and the Sunday papers with it.

It had become a habit of Cosima’s to read the papers every morning.  This was not out of necessity – Cosima was far more aware of politics and conflict in the world than Lord Pippin (the Prime Minister of Britain) was himself, but she found it refreshing to find that the work she did was effective.

Cosima worked for the OSS (the Office of Strategic Services) and had been sent to England to work on an ad hoc basis with British wartime intelligence.  So far, her work had been very simple and easy.  Most days, she stayed in and manned her radio, listening for any foreign threats to Britain (and by extension, America).  If anything could be said for this job, it had proved itself to be a diverting holiday for the brunette, with minimal work, but it still had its rewards.

As Cosima read that Sunday’s Observer, however, she came across the first unexpected revelation since she had crossed the pond three months ago; a loan of £50,000,000 had successfully been floated in the City of London.  Placing down her cup of tea on her saucer, Cosima leant into the paper to properly read the article.  The paper ensured that the loan had _no political significance whatsoever_ , which simply served to lead to the opposite conclusion.  Cosima, angered by the news, left her uneaten toast on her plate and went up to her radio room to contact Colonel Antony Scrymgeour about the news.  She had been kept in the dark about this, despite her heightened status in the protection of Britain, and she demanded to know why.  Scrymgeour was neither apologetic nor open about the scandal of the money when she contacted him, and he left her with more questions than she had before.

 Sighing for the sake of her sex, she ran her hands through her hair and thought about what this would mean for England.  Nearly every country in Europe besides Germany would find a problem with this, and England would most certainly lose all of the friends that Lord Pippin had tried to make.

She scanned through the different frequencies of her radio, attempting to pick up something.  The past few days had been deathly silent, but today was overwhelmingly busy on the waves.  Most of what she heard were angry French news reporters shouting about how much they hated the English (« -ils ont des pieds pour têtes!») and general abuse, but something caught her attention.  It was the first calm voice she had heard yet, speaking stiff French and sounding angrier than those shouting instantly.  Her ears pricked up, and what she heard had her moving faster than she had in ages.

She got in touch with everyone in her emergency contacts list that she kept wrapped up in a cigarette in her cigarette case that had been passed down to her from her father, who had not been unaware of her love for the things.

Out of the ten people she managed to get hold of, only three appeared to have heard it themselves already.  Finally exhausting her list, she considered her next moves, given to her by her commanding officer.  She was to protect as many of the people who lived on this street as she could.  The house to her left was vacant (a fact she had taken advantage of a number of times for many different reasons) but on the right, Cosima knew an old woman lived alone, widowed possibly six years ago.  She had spent some time talking to her when they crossed paths, but she didn’t know much more about her.

Moving quickly, she straightened her dress and hurried next door, neglecting to put on her gloves or even a hat.  Knocking on the door that led to the house of her neighbour, she wrung her hands nervously, waiting impatiently.  After an age, she knocked again, louder this time.  _Surely_ there was someone here to help this woman – she was _ancient_ for the love of God! 

“Mrs Davids?  Are you in there?”  She looked up at the sky quickly but soon returned her focus to the door in front of her.  Growing confused, she starting trying to open the door herself.  She was surprised when the door opened when she put a hand on the doorknob but found the reason was because someone was opening the door from the other side.  _Finally!_ Cosima thought to herself.

“Hello?” the person asked her who had opened the door.  Cosima looked up at the face of the woman but for a moment believed that she was seeing things.  A beautiful blonde woman with startlingly large eyes looking expectantly at her… it couldn’t possibly be who she thought it was.  Shaking her head, she moved on, the identity of the woman not important at the moment.

“Hello, my name is Cosima, I live next door to Mrs Davids… I work for the protection of Britain and right now French planes are preparing to leave French soil and blow up London.  I need to get Mrs Davids and whoever else is in the house to safety, so if it’s possible, I need you both to come with me.”

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

“Oh shoot, I’m really sorry!  I had no idea!  I hope you see my predicament, though… I really can’t leave either of you here.”

“I understand, Cosima.  I will need your help moving her, though.  Can you take her right side?”

“I’m awake right now, love, I can get up on my own.  I just need a bit of help getting down the stairs, that’s all.”

“Oh, um, I didn’t mean to be rude, I’m sorry Mrs Davids.”

“Oh please my dear, I am eighty years old and widowed and close to death.  I have had to deal with more insult than someone believing me too feeble to move.”

“Mother!  Please don’t speak like that!  Cosima, if my mum is sure about this, I’ll help her downstairs, but there are people all down the street who have no idea.  I think it would be best if you went and told them.  We shall meet you by your front door.  Please, hurry.”

Cosima nodded and hurried off, practically running down the stairs and out onto the streets.

By the time she had finally convinced twelve people to follow her out of their respective homes, Shea Armour (a beloved national treasure, a theatre actress who had also seen just as immediate a success in film acting too) and her mother were waiting outside Cosima’s front door.  She was surprised anyone had decided to come with her.  It was an unusual set of circumstances, a neighbour telling you that France, your lifelong ally, had decided to throw bombs on Britain, your home and attempting to sequester you in her “fortified basement” which were apparently being installed in various homes throughout London, but early on a Sunday morning, people were too groggy to put up much of a fight. 

Cosima opened up her front door.

“Open that door.  Follow the stairs down to the basement.  There should be space enough for all of you, even if not everyone gets a chair.  There’s a bed, make sure your mother gets to rest on it.  There are four more houses at the other end of the road that I need to check.”

With that, she smiled reassuringly at the people gathered in her entrance hallway and slipped out again, going the other way to check the remaining houses.

With a band of ten more people following her now, some curious and some scared, she was turning to the last house when she saw someone stepping out, closing the door behind them.  It was a very tall woman, with very long legs and stunning, curly blonde hair under a neat hat.  She was putting on some gloves, but Cosima called out to her.

“Ma’am!  Ma’am!”  She hurried over to the woman as she walked down the steps from her door, stopping at the bottom of them, leaving those who were following her in a huddle in the middle of the street.  The woman stopped, and took her in, her face suspicious.  She came to stand in front of Cosima, nearly a head taller and far more intimidating.  She didn’t say anything, merely looked at Cosima as if she was waiting for her to say something, so the brunette continued.  “Ma’am, I know that I’m going to sound slightly ridiculous, but I need you to hear me out.”  When no word of negation came from the taller woman, Cosima continued.  “I work for the protection of Britain, and right now, there are French planes coming to bomb London.  If it’s alright with you, could you come with me and these other people?  I have a fortified basement that will keep us all safe.”

The woman stared at her for a moment more, took in the huddle of Englishmen in dressing gowns and slippers, one old man nervously chewing on his still smoking pipe, and then looked back at Cosima.

“Danke für ihre Sorge aber ich muss jetzt verlassen.”  It took a moment for the translation to take place, but her mind finally caught up.   _Thank you for your concern, but I must leave now._ Cosima switched immediately to German too.

“Sind Sie Deutsch?  Machen Sie sich keine Sorgen.  Meine Eltern sind auch Deutsch.  Bitte, kommen Sie mit mir.  Es könnte gefährlich sein, wohin Sie gehen.”  _Are you German?  Don’t worry.  My parents are German too.  Please come with me.  Wherever you’re going, it could be dangerous._

“I am fine, thank you, I do not need help.”  And with that, she stalked off, hurrying around a corner, leaving Cosima standing at the bottom of the steps.  Her voice confused Cosima. 

That accent was not German at all… her accent was _French_ … it wasn’t overpowering or very clear, but it was definitely, undeniably French.  Cosima realised her mistake.  “ _There are French planes, coming to bomb London.”_   Clearly the woman had felt offended by the accusation against her country.  Sighing, she considered running after the woman, but there was a group of people waiting for her just behind her.  She led them back to her house, leading them down to the basement where the others had managed to make it to without much of a problem.  From there, it was a waiting game.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

It didn’t take long for the bombs to come.  The Channel is not very big, and with planes, it would take hardly any time for the French pilots to cross and hit London.  They had already been deployed when Cosima had heard the news on her radio anyway, so it didn’t surprise her that they arrived so soon.

Her basement was painfully full.  It certainly had not been built to accommodate twenty-five people.  No one was arguing yet, but Cosima was holding her breath.  The booms and shakes had rattled them all, but if they didn’t stop soon, she knew it wouldn’t be long before people were shouting and throwing punches.

The booms and cracks burst their eardrums, each new barrage just as bad as the first and no respite allowed to them.

Cosima could hear the mumbled, hushed chatter of those all around her (she was standing by the door to the stairs for the main entrance hall; she felt like it was the best place to be when you seemed to be the one in charge), but she was closest to the bed that held Shea Armour’s mother, the aforementioned lady kneeling beside the bed, talking in low tones to her mother.

The brunette thought that she should really allow the two some privacy, but seeing as there were twenty-two other people listening in as well, she decided that privacy had no place here.

Tentatively approaching them through the small space that had been allowed to them all, she knelt by the bedside next to Shea, asking her if she needed anything.

“Yes please, water – if you can possibly get access to any here?” she posed her answer as another question, her nerves making her shy.  Quite unlike the confident public persona Cosima had been shown through the papers (and the presence she commanded onstage; Cosima had seen her in a few plays in her time in London…she was very good), but she smiled reassuringly at her and went to collect a bottle of water from a very handy cubby hole that opened via a hatch that lifted upwards.  She had to shuffle a few people around, but they saw the dying woman on the bed and did not question her need for water, allowing Cosima to reach down into the provisions storage and pull out the glass bottle she needed.

 _Oh no, this just won’t do,_ she thought, deploring her lack of foresight; a lady couldn’t drink straight from the bottle…did she have any glasses around here?  She asked a pale lady in the corner to pass her an unlit emergency lamp, which she then lit quickly once in possession of it, and looked further down into the cubby hole, searching for something that would do the job. Hmm… _Aha!  Yes!_   Grinning, she pulled out an empty jar of what used to hold some pickled onions.  It stank a bit, the dregs of the juice not really ever fully washed away since Cosima had run down here during a storm, spending the night missing home and everything _comfortable_ , but it would do the job.  Wrestling the lid off the jar, she discarded it on a shelf in the cubby hole and returned to her neighbour with the smelly, empty jar and water in hand.

Shea helped her mother sit up to sip at the water Cosima had poured into the jar, her nose wrinkling a little but drinking it all the same.

The noise came to an abrupt stop.

Everyone stopped with it.

They all spent a moment in a suspended reality, the unison of their silence bonding them.

Then they all moved again, heads turning, whispers shared between nervously licked lips and people standing up from uncomfortably crossed legs, curious as to what was going on.

“Hang on, everyone.  We don’t know if it’s stopped for sure yet.  They could wait for us all to come out and start again… wait here for five more minutes, and then I will go and check.”

Those five minutes were possibly longer than the time they had spent listening to the destruction above ground, the possibility of escape from this increasingly stuffy room growing more…possible…with every second that Cosima counted in her head. 

She found herself counting under her breath, until soon, everyone in that room was counting with her. On the fourth minute, Cosima was pretty sure that their hearts were beating erratically in unison. …48…49…50…

She was sweating so badly.  Every inch of her skin was drenched, her body trying to deal with the stress that she felt, so nervous for the silence to remain.  Just six more seconds…55…56…57…

This was it; it had to be over now.  They’d waited long enough…58…59…

CRACK!

 _You can't be serious_.

There was the sound of a terrible, shiver-inducing creak and crack, followed by a bang that shook them again, this one closer and more powerful than anything else they had felt yet. 

The breath everyone let out at the same time was haunting, the heads hanging in disappointment and disbelief was disheartening.  She couldn’t believe it!  She waited for more bombs to come, but there was nothing.  She moved against the door, but then something unknown connected dots in her mind.

 _The bombs we heard before most definitely did_ not _sound like breaking timber…_

Sure of what had happened, she looked at everyone and announced that it was now safe to leave.  Some stayed seated, some shot up, but no one looked like they totally believed her.

She yanked the door open, and the air that should have been cool and refreshing was…oh, it was _rancid._   Thankfully, the stairs had another door at the top, but it had not fared well; it had stopped timber from falling down the stairs, blocking the door at the bottom, but it _had_ been ripped out of its frame.  Cosima signalled for others to wait while she cleared the way, but one young man followed her anyway, indicating that he would help her.

There was smoke _everywhere_ and rubble seemed to have become part of the decoration of her now no-longer-standing house.  The _only thing_ remaining of her house – of her _street_ – was her “fortified basement”.  There was nothing left but black, dead, nothing.  The once glorious Clytemnestra Street, the pride of Westminster (or so Cosima told herself), had been turned into a mess of spilt ink on black paper. 

Trying not to think of the damage, she and the young man (Tom, she learnt after trying to calm him down when he saw the ruin that his childhood home had become) called down for the others to follow finally, and they seemed all too eager to oblige.  Beslippered and ruffled from their disrupted morning, it was a strange yet painful sight to see these people stumble to their knees, weeping at the wreckage, smearing their rich clothes black with soot and dirt, the air carrying fine motes of black that clung to the sweat on the faces.  Cosima noticed that two people had not yet left the basement.  She hurried down the stairs to see if she could help.

Slipping into the now very stuffy room, she saw that Mrs Davids had not even risen from the bed.  She then noticed that Shea was crying, her right hand gripping onto her mother’s very pale one.

Vision blurred by unshed tears, she moved towards Shea Armour, stroking her back and comforting her.  Slowly the blonde woman stopped crying and hugged Cosima.

“She left us when the bombs stopped.  Thank you for getting us both that far.”  She smiled at the brunette, holding back more sobs as she turned to look back at her mother.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Shea proved to be as good an actress in day to day life as she was on stage and film.  With something to focus on, she became an excellent leader.  Collecting herself, she gathered the people she had survived the bombardment with and roused them to action.

Cosima was an efficient organiser and knew how to get people in the right place at the right time, and had a certain skill in the art of persuasion, but there is a skill that only an actress can claim.  She stood down, allowing Shea to command of those around them the things Cosima needed of them.  Having recognised the national treasure long ago, they were all willing to do exactly what she said.  She gathered them, and they began to walk through the streets of London, searching houses and helping gather those who had been caught.

Although unable to help the wounded (which became Cosima’s job, along with Tom and an old, retired doctor), Shea was charismatic enough to convince all they came across to follow their band, becoming a large procession of _resistance_ against the death which had been dropped among them through Westminster.  Cosima and Shea led it, finding themselves in the bizarre position of having the whole of the borough of Westminster following them, doing as they said.

They moved slowly, but they helped many.  Some had been angered by France’s betrayal, but the majority of them were grateful for having survived.  Their limbs were stiff, but they still _had_ limbs, they were sweaty but they were _alive,_ the air was bitter, but they could _breathe_ it all the same.  And of course, they were being led by their darling, Shea Armour.

They all admired her, father, mothers, uncles, aunts and children alike.  Her worshipful public determined to band together for the sake of this woman who had united them in one purpose; Survive!

They began to sing.  Mostly, they sang Shea’s songs from her various films, but they branched out a little; war songs, shanties and battle-hymns.  When Shea started up a rendition from her latest film _Strength in Southwark_ , everyone joined in.

Little did Shea Armour know, it was to become the song sung by every regiment that went marching on English roads and foreign highways.  It became the flag of heroism in Britain, and it would be sung for centuries to come.

While she told Shea what to order her admirers to do, lifting rubble and helping carry the wounded, Cosima could only think about what had become of the French woman she had met that morning, wondering whether she had made it through the bombardment, and hoping beyond hope that she had.


	2. Great Smith Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite upsetting: there is _a lot_ of death, even though you don't see anyone actually die.  
>  Thanks to my sestra Chamelaucium for being a kind of half-beta thingy...  
> The geography in this chapter is all entirely accurate!

Shea Armour’s procession had made it to Victoria Street. They were headed to the Houses of Parliament in the hopes that someone there would be able to tell the people what to do. The procession, still led by Shea and Cosima, was by far the largest group of people that anyone had come across that morning, and all of the little bands that saw them quickly joined their ranks.

It was quite a sight to see such a force of unity in Britain. The usual emotional constipation of the Brits had quite literally been blown out of them, if only for the time being, but it allowed for as merry a journey as could be asked for by people who had just lost their homes and loved ones (and quite a few had misplaced their smoking pipes which caused them some distress).

They had just passed Victoria Palace Theatre (from which twenty clowns and a supposedly tame tiger joined the march, although there was a lot of space left between them and the rest of the procession for obvious reasons) and were coming up to Westminster Cathedral (often mistaken for Westminster Abbey, but Cosima had always thought the Cathedral was more reminiscent of Venetian brickwork than the extreme Gothic nature of the Abbey) when they were stopped by a tall man leading what appeared to be a badly organised unit of the British Army.

 _Finally!_ Cosima thought, wondering how it had taken them so long to get out onto the streets. Then the man came forward, his uniform starched and clean, his boots black and well buffed. Cosima noticed his prominent nose and she could see the dark hair he kept close-cropped under his cap. He stood in front of Shea and Cosima, effectively halting their march. The singing of the people behind them slowly came to a stop as they waited to see what happened next.

“Good morning to you, ladies…” he smiled at them, removing his slanted cap just so, clearly showing his star of the Order of the Bath over the crossed sword and baton. _Hmm, a Major-general,_ Cosima noted, _he could be useful._ His English accent jarred Cosima’s ears, which were used to the sway and lilt of the Californian tongue. 

“Good morning Major-general…” Cosima waited for him to give his name.

“Dierden. Major-general Dierden. I hope that I find you both well, under the circumstances, Miss…?” He waited for her to respond with the same courtesy.

“General Niehaus, at your service, and this is Shea Armour, but I think you already knew that.” She smiled at the shock he displayed when he saw that she outranked him as she showed him her papers that she kept tied around her arm for moments just like these. “As for how well we are, I don’t think it’s really us you should be asking. We’re leading a parade of the survivors. We’re on our way to Parliament. Can you tell me anything about what’s going on? Do we have an idea about the number of casualties?”

“It’s an honour to finally meet you, General. I apologise for my confusion, I was merely under the impression until now that General Niehaus was…well…a man. I can see that those impressions were wrong. Anyway, the casualties are surprisingly few, thankfully. The shelters we installed months ago were unfortunately not as useful as we would have liked…the short notice we had helped with that, but most people managed to find places to hide, usually the biggest house on each street.”

“We should be thankful that we got any notice at all, Major Dierden,” Cosima remarked, annoyed that her lucky discovery was being so easily disregarded.

“Of course, General. I’m here with Lieutenant Colonel Bell’s Battalion…nobody seems to know where he is at the moment, so I’m acting Commanding Officer for now. Can we escort you to Parliament and ensure the safety of your Parade?”

“You can do that. I want a hedgehog defence in a military bottleneck around the civvies, and when the men see more non-combatants they are to merge them into the ranks. Understood?” Her comprehension of the British language would never be perfect, but _this_ she understood.

“Yes, General.” In a moment, he had deployed his troops and they got into position, escorting and recruiting as the march continued. Major-general Dierden walked with them at the front, having taken the space between the two women, much to Cosima’s chagrin. He was taller than the two of them…he became the focus. Shea turned back to the people behind her and started a solo once more. It didn’t take long for them to start singing along too. Once they had gained their own momentum, Shea turned back to the two military superiors on her right.

“I didn’t know Americans could be so high up in the British Army, Cosima. I suppose I don’t really know anything about the army, though, so maybe it’s a common thing.”

Major Dierden spoke in Cosima’s place.

“Britain and America have a unique relationship and due to the threat that Germany posed we set up communications between the two countries for the allied protection of our countries. Little did we know, it would be the French we had to protect ourselves against. Then, they sent over their best agent first, General Niehaus. Others followed, but General Niehaus made a very good impression. Already a Major, it wasn’t hard for her to rise through the ranks. It’s impressive. She is a legend throughout the army, from the Commands to the Brigades. I’m not sure how many of our soldiers know that she is a girl, however.”

“Maybe that was the intention all along, Major,” Cosima smirked.

Dierden continued.

“But, Ms. Armour, I must say that I am charmed to make your acquaintance. I first saw you onstage in _Dacre Mill_. I enjoyed your performance very much.”

“Thank you, Major Dierden. Lady Dacre is definitely one of my favourite roles to have played. I am glad that you enjoyed it.”

“It was inspiring, Ma’am. In fact, it led me to the pictures to see _Foal for Red_. That was sensational if you don’t mind me saying. It was just what the country needed, I think.”

“Ah, thank you, Major, thank you very much.”

“Don’t mention it. How was your trip to America? I read in the papers…”

Cosima zoned out, getting tired of listening to Major Dierden’s inability to stop flirting with a beautiful woman for more than a minute at a time. By now, she noticed that they had come up to Great Smith Street on the right. The procession continued on through the ruined street. She was relieved that Victoria Street was mainly a parade of shops and not as many houses were situated here. The devastation was horrific. Thankfully most shops remained shut on Sundays. She kept her eyes out for more people and listened past the singing to hear the cried of anyone who might need her help. The singing acted as a good beacon for those who thought they were alone. It was just a little difficult to hear over. Her ears picked up a sound from a building further down the street.

“Major, I can hear a woman calling from the right. Have three men join me. She may be trapped in a building or something. I just need some men to clear the way.” 

“Yes, General.” She headed off to towards the sound, followed by the three men Major Dierden had sent.

“General, where do you think it’s coming from?”

 _Great Smith Street…_ she ran the name through her head a few times until it finally hit her.

“There were public baths on this street! They must be in the pools. The bombs came very early so there can’t have been very many people there, but it would be unwise to underestimate. Have Major Dierden divert the parade down this street. We can make use of everyone here, it is possible there will be lots of water to navigate through.”

“Yes, General.” The man who had asked her the question hurried back to the major, who was still talking to Shea. _Ridiculous_ , she thought to herself. Heading down the street, followed by the two remaining soldiers, she found the location of the crying woman. Cosima’s stomach turned, decided to send up a package of bile into her mouth.

The baths were here alright, the stone façade of the building remained partially intact with the letters PU L C BA HS still discernible in the masonry. The sight that made Cosima sick was the stone that hadn’t remained with the rest of its body was now lying around the front entrance, one particularly large chunk of stone crushing the limbs of a young woman who was lying distorted under its weight. She heard a shallow panting to her right, along with a sort of whimpering that set Cosima’s teeth on edge.

“What’s your name, Corporal?” Cosima turned to the whimpering soldier.

“Corporal Scott Smith, General.” He turned to her, fear deep in his eyes.

“How much do you know about medicine, Corporal Smith?” she asked, trying to ground him with anything that she could.

“Some. My brother is an army surgeon…I helped him, back when he needed help with the number of men coming back from the field in 1918.”

“Right, that’s fine. And who are you?” she asked the second soldier. He was older than Scott.

“I’m Private Kevin Duval.” He squeaked, seemingly scared of being addressed by Cosima.

“I want both of you to help me clear the rubble around our patient here. We need to make a space big enough for the stone that is crushing her. Put them on the street on the other side of the road. We need to keep the road clear for the ambulance we will need. Right away, please.”

They scurried around immediately, pushing the rubble and large stones out of the way, sweating profusely as they worked together. Whilst they worked on that, Cosima knelt down to assess the condition of the wailing woman.

“Shhhh…shhh…” Cosima calmed her, as she brushed her wet hair out of her face to get a look at the woman she was kneeling beside. She checked her pulse and assessed how deep the cuts on her face were. She was grubby, covered in muck. That they were outside a public bath did not escape Cosima. “Can you tell me your name, Ma’am?” Cosima asked, attempting to get the woman’s attention. “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” She continued to talk as she worked. She looked the street, back the way they had come, and saw that Major Dierden was leading the crowd through the rubble as well as he could. He saw what Scott and Kevin were doing and ordered everyone to do the same, clearing the road of the rubble. The civvies were helping too, it seemed. Cosima wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but she knew it wasn’t exactly the most dangerous work, so no one was being put in danger here.

Slowly, the woman stopped crying and focussed on Cosima, who persuaded an answer out of her through sheer determination.

“I’m…I’m Gracie…”she croaked out, her voice raw from having cried out for so long.

“Hello, Gracie. My name is Cosima. I heard you shouting, well done for being so brave. I’m going to get you out from under the rubble, but you need to be brave for a little while longer, can you do that for me?” she asked, smiling at the girl even though she wasn’t looking at her.

Gracie nodded, crying out as she moved too much and shifted the rock. Cosima swore and stopped the rock from swaying on top of the woman too much. She didn't want any more damage done than there already was. Cosima turned to look at Dierden, who was hurrying through the rubble towards her.

“Major, I need more men to come and help! Bring as many as can fit around this stone! And bring as many civvies as want to help too! And bring the retired doctor!” She called out to him. He stopped in his tracks and turned, barking orders for five men to follow him. 

Scott and Kevin returned, having cleared the road just enough for an ambulance to get here.

“Private Duval, go and find the nearest telephone box. There should be one at the end of this street by…what’s the name… oh, Great Peter Street. I want you to call for an ambulance, am I clear?” He nodded and scurried off, limbs moving awkwardly. She turned to Scott.

“Corporal Smith, I need you to find me a medical kit. I trust you know the things I’m going to need. Now, there isn’t a hospital anywhere around here. Do you know this area any better than I do?”

“No, General, I live in Hampstead.”

“How the heck did you end up in Westminster? No, that’s not relevant, don’t answer that.” Scott seemed relieved that she didn’t press it any further. “Now, here’s what I know. There is a library on this street but I’m not sure how far down. There is also a fucking massive Abbey just a little further down Victoria Street, but I know that there is a choir school in Dean’s yard. Where, out of those three locations do you think we are most likely to come across a medical kit?”

As she finished, Dierden arrived with his support and a few civilians who were willing to help with whatever she needed, and the old, retired doctor. She ordered the soldiers around the large piece of stone, all able to get as much grip as they could on the bottom. Then she turned to the civilians and told them all to clear the entrance into the public baths. They got working on that immediately.

“In five, we’re going to slowly lift this stone off Gracie here. We mustn’t move too quickly, there could be something that is somehow caught on her, or it will be too painful and she will not survive the shock. We take it slowly and steadily. Understand?” They all nodded their assent. Shea hurried over, understanding what they were doing, and linked one of Gracie’s hands in her right, her left hand keeping Gracie’s shoulder on the ground, providing something to hold onto and keeping her flat.

After a count of five, they all slowly began to lift, Cosima too.

The stone was immensely heavy and Cosima struggled dreadfully, her body straining with the weight of it, but she did her best. She was by no means weak, but she wasn’t as strong as Major Dierden, either. 

Gracie started screaming as soon as the weight of the stone shifted. She gripped onto Shea’s hand, crying, but she didn’t move too much, helped by the actress' other hand holding her down.

“Keep at the same pace!” Cosima shouted. “If one of you is too slow _or_ too fast it will lose its balance. Think of it this way; we need to be going at a rate of three inches every second. _Keep to that!_ ” It seemed to go smoothly from there, and they managed to transfer the stone from on top of Gracie to the space that Scott and Kevin had cleared moments before. _Scott…_

“Corporal Smith? Where are you? I need that medical kit!” She looked around, wondering where he had gone. She didn't see Scott but she did see that everyone in the parade had now joined them outside the baths, helping to clear the rubble. The only people who weren’t involved were the injured who were being tended by other men and women at the top of the street. The clowns and tiger seemed to have gone their separate ways at this point.

She turned as she heard someone calling for her, running with the slap of feet against the street. It was Kevin.

“General! The hospital can’t send any more ambulances, they are all busy and they can’t spare any more vehicles!”

Cosima had guessed as much, which was why she had sent Scott for the medical kit. The doctor she had requested stepped forward, knowing he was now needed desperately. Just when she was about to start talking to him, another voice called out to her, again from the direction of further down the street. It was Scott. Cosima breathed a sigh of relief.

“Scott! Do you have the kit?” He nodded, running along with a large doctor’s kit.

“How did you get your hands on something that advanced? No, again, there are more pressing matters right now. You can tell me later.” Cosima spoke quickly when he returned in front of her, incredulity clear on her face. She turned to the doctor, handed him the kit and motioned him towards a now sniffling Gracie who was being looked after by Shea. The doctor nodded, and set to work immediately.

Cosima moved on to the next most pressing issue. She turned to the soldiers and gathered them around.

“We’re currently outside a public swimming pool, you understand this?” They all nodded. “Then you must be aware that there may very well have been people here who were coming for an early morning swim before the morning’s church service. That means that any number of people could be in there. They may have been less fortunate than Gracie - if she can at all be called lucky with crushed legs.” A few of the men winced at her words. “Of course, there is a large body of water in there, so we need to be careful of our footing and also of anyone that might be in there. Is there anyone who can’t help with this?” No one spoke.

She nodded, and they made their way carefully into the baths through the now cleared entrance. She got Kevin to stand aside and told him to keep the order in the street whilst she was gone. She suggested he sing a few songs with them. He nodded. She nodded to the young man who had helped her that morning, Tom. He nodded back at her.

The entrance hall of the baths was deserted but there wasn’t too much damage, just fallen stones and decoration. Cosima guessed that anyone who had survived it had probably left already, much as she and those on her road had done. She wondered where they had gone, and if they had helped anyone else out - if there had even been anyone here in the first place.

When they finally made it to the actual pool, Cosima wanted to kneel down right there and cry. The roof had fallen in, straight into the pool, which didn’t hold just the remains of the ceiling…but at least a dozen bodies, floating, lifeless, in between bits of tile and rafter. They must have received no warning from the authorities. Cosima breathed in deeply and considered the desperation of this situation. 

"Right now our priority is finding injured people or survivors. I want three men to go the male changing room, Smith, Dierden and I will check the female one. The rest of you I want to start clearing the pool. Begin at the shallow end and use the nets that are kept on the side for…the bodies. Line them up on the side for identification.” She gulped, and then waved them all into action. They all moved as one, setting off to do their various jobs.

The changing rooms were situated in the basement, which was a small mercy. Cosima and her temporary team called out the whole way, trying to get the attention of anyone who might be trapped or even asleep, the intense exhaustion wiping them out. They came across a large beam of wood cutting off the door to the changing rooms, but they moved it without much difficulty. If anyone was down there, they wouldn’t have been able to get out. Thankfully, Cosima found a group of people in the women’s room; sixteen men, women, and children all huddled together, talking in hushed voices. One man was standing when they entered, the rest all trying to make themselves as small as possible. 

“Oh thank the Lord!” The man sighed, his voice full of relief. “We thought you might be Germans!”

“No sir, no Germans here. But, it wasn’t the Germans who bombed us anyway.” Cosima smiled gently at him and then at the group of people huddled together. “We’ve cleared the way for us all to get out of here safely. Please, though, if there is anyone who will try to go into the main pool area…I ask that you don’t. It's quite unpleasant and there are...some bodies.”

One little boy gasped and then burst into tears. Cosima neared him and took his hands in hers. “Do you know who was still up there when the bombs came? Can you remember how many people were there?” she asked gently. 

He nodded, not looking into her eyes.

“How many people do you remember?” She put a hand under his chin and lifted his gaze to hers.

“I think…I think about twenty?” He burst into sobs again, and Cosima nodded. She turned to the main group once again but didn’t let go of the boy’s hands.

“I have some men upstairs who are getting as many people out of the water as they can. We’re very lucky that the pool is still intact, otherwise, you may all have been hurt too, possibly drowned. If anyone knows people who were still up there, I ask you to stay behind to identify them for us, but please keep your children in the entrance hall. The way is quite unstable but we have managed to keep it clear for now. Is anyone here injured?” She stood up, keeping a hold of the boy’s right hand, and when no one claimed an injury, she led them all out. They followed her without question. She met the other men who had checked the male changing room, their faces grim at finding nobody. They looked relieved to learn that they had simply banded together.

Cosima led them all up to the entrance hall, where those who didn’t know anyone else were allowed out to join the others.

The young boy, still gripping onto Cosima for dear life, tugged at her hand.

“My family- are they all in there?” he asked. Cosima squeezed his hand and looked him right in the eyes, kneeling to match his height.

“Your name’s Oscar, did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Oscar, my name is Cosima. Who is in your family? Did none of them come back?”

“None of them. There’s- there’s my dad and my mum and my sister.”

“Right. Oscar, why were you in the changing rooms alone?”

He broke down into tears again.

“I- I was being silly! I was having a tantrum because I didn’t want to go swimming, so I sat down in the changing rooms and refused to move. My family went up without me!” He cried and Cosima pulled him into a tight hug, stroking his back.

“Listen to me now, Oscar. There’s a girl outside called Gracie, and she was really brave earlier on. Some stone fell on her leg and it was really, really painful, and she had to be incredibly strong when we tried to move the stone from on top of her. She’s fine now, but she had to deal with a lot of pain before we could make her better. I’m going to take you into the pool area, and I’m going to need you to tell me if you see your family. I don’t know what they look like, so I can’t tell you if they are fine, but I need you to be really brave, just like Gracie was. Do you think you can do that for me?” She looked into his eyes and he sniffled a little more but nodded. She nodded in response and took him into the pool.

As Oscar had remembered, there were more or less twenty people who had been lined up by the poolside, all lying on their backs, vacant faces staring at the open sky.

Oscar shook in Cosima’s hands, but he stayed strong, thankfully. As they walked past a number of mothers and children, Cosima tensed, but not once did Oscar show any recognition. Before they had even made it to the end of the line, he stopped.

“My family aren’t here. Miss Cosima, why aren’t my family here? They’re not here!” he fell to his knees, his left hand pulled up, still attached to Cosima’s, and she caught him as he became weak.

“Oscar! Oscar, it could be a very good thing! That could mean that your family is alright! If they aren’t here, then it means that they may very well have got out of here; do you understand what I’m saying? Oscar?” She held onto the shaking boy, but he looked at her with eyes that seemed to understand the words she was saying. Slowly, the rest of his body seemed to catch up and he straightened, standing up properly and moving again.

“I understand, Miss. I would like to leave this place now, please. I don’t like it here.”

Cosima nodded, and took him out, thanking Paul’s temporary team for doing such a difficult job. She needed to find out where Lieutenant Colonel Bell was.

When she finally made it out of the public baths with Oscar in tow, she saw that an ambulance had finally arrived and that Gracie was getting some emergency care before being put into the ambulance. She pulled Scott out of a small group of soldiers and gave him instructions. He took Oscar with him, nodding his understanding of her instructions. She saw Shea talking to Dierden and she joined them. She thanked Dierden for helping, but then told him to gather the people into a semblance of order. They would be on the move again shortly. He nodded and turned, barking more orders. 

“What are you feeling?” Cosima asked Shea once he had gone, putting a hand on the side of her arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I find that a much more sensible question that ‘are you alright?’ and I also get to work out what people need at the same time.”

Shea smiled at her, then looked down at the ground beneath them.

“Obviously, I’m not feeling too chirpy. I am both devastated and relieved about my mother… the loss is difficult, but she was suffering quite a lot, and she left us when the bombs had finally stopped, which I am grateful to you for. I am…disgusted by what happened to Gracie, it was unsettling to look at her leg, bent in completely the wrong direction, blood everywhere…I am…horrified…at the thought of twenty-odd people dead in a swimming pool…I am scared for Oscar and worried for his family. And we can’t forget the obvious…I am grossed out by Major-general Dierden’s insensitive advances towards me at such a time as this.” Cosima couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Well, I could have him court marshalled for you if you wanted...” she smirked at Shea, who giggled slightly.

“I am grateful for your ironclad care of me today. You have been amazing. Thank you.” Shea pulled her in and hugged her tightly, and Cosima felt her shake as she let out a few sobs. She pulled herself together once again, though, and when she pulled away from the hug, Cosima would never have known that she had been crying.

“Right. Well, we’re off to Parliament now, as soon as Gracie and the other more seriously wounded have been taken away. Are you still with me or would you rather the company of Mr. Rugged Gorgeousness Major-general Dierden?” Shea laughed at her and then linked her arm with Cosima.

“Oh no, my darling. I intend to stick to you like horse glue for as long as I can.”

“That’s my favourite kind of woman.” Cosima winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> I promise that it will get less gruesome after this chapter, and the plot kicks off in Chapter 3.  
> I never intended to make this as...distressing...as this has turned out to be, but I seem to have an ability to twist things into their most...twisted...state without me really noticing that I'm doing it.  
> There is also a lot more Shaysima than I intended, but roll with it because this is a COPHINE fic and I will not allow it to become more than simple flirting between these two...maybe... ;)  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> HermioneSpencer


	3. The Master Plan

Six months into the war with France and Britain was already tired. It is often said that the British are the best nation at queueing, and there is truth in this. It is not, however, true to say that the English are a patient people. The moment an Englishman can see his Elevenses slowly slipping away, he will show signs of severe discomfort; he will go red at the neck, begin to loosen his tie and start swinging his umbrella (for he will never leave without one) so violently that he endangers the safety of those around him. An impatient Englishwoman is far more dangerous, however, and there are many survivors who are too scared to repeat their experiences to the common folk. 

Lady Lysistrata was a woman one did not cross. Nobody denied her Elevenses…for that matter, nobody denied her the Afternoon Tea or Nightcap she expected every day, either. She was determined that the French would not be the cause of the loss of these staple meals. She was the wife of Colonel Antony Scrymgeour, so she was accustomed to many privileges in her daily life, and so when she was discussing rationing with Lord Pippin, the Prime Minister, she was growing so terrifying that he was beginning to display the tell-tale signs of a man who was very intimidated; exactly the same as severe discomfort, minus the violent swinging of his umbrella (for he has dropped it out of nervousness by this point).

“I refuse to accept your terms, Prime Minister. It simply cannot be done.”

“But my Lady, surely you must see that the war is taking a dreadful toll on our ability to import enough tea and brandy… Afternoon Teas and Nightcaps _must_ be rationed! By Jove, there aren’t even enough resources for _biscuits_ , let alone cake!”

“Oh, Lord Pippin, you are a ridiculous excuse for a man. I shall be telling my husband about this, mark my words. And if you dare take _any_ action against my afternoon tea, I shall see to it that the House of Commons votes you out. No – even better – I shall get you to sign your own resignation. Good day, Sir.”

And with that, Lady Lysistrata walked out of the newly appointed Prime Ministerial home – Number 10 Upping Street – which had had to move along with Parliament, due to the damage the original building had sustained. Parliament had been moved to Edinburgh – as far away from France as was socially possible. Many had laughed at Lord Pippin for making that decision – France especially, as it looked as if the leaders of England were running as far from France as they could (which of course they were), but Lord Pippin’s excuse had been that Edinburgh Castle held the best fortifications for the new Parliament. Edinburgh was now the Capital (much to the chagrin of the Englishmen who were not as scared as the Parliamentary nitwits; there was much animosity between the Sassenachs and the Bloody Jocks).

Lysistrata laughed at the bumbling man she had just left. She loved to see him so uncomfortable. But she was just getting started – there was a meeting taking place today, and it was the beginning of a very important plan, one that was sure to win the war for them. And by gum, it was an _excellent_ plan.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cosima had received a letter that morning from the wife of the Colonel. It was a summons to a tactical meeting, which intrigued her. She had met Lady Lysistrata once before at a cocktail evening, but her identity had remained secret then; she was merely another clerk for the Colonel. Lysistrata had been pleasant to her, though. She was looking forward to seeing her again, finally able to stand as tall as usually did (despite being as vertically challenged as she was) and commanding of the respect she had grown accustomed to. 

Whilst these past six months had been difficult for Britain, they heralded much change for Cosima. She had been named a hero, and wherever she went, men fawned over her. It was very unsettling, but Cosima had grown excellent at wearing disguises before she left her relatively new house (which had become an art of sorts; she left through various windows, sometimes from the basement’s exit and at one time there had been so many reporters outside her front door that she had been forced to leave via the _roof_ ).

Cosima would have loved the attention she was receiving if only it wasn’t _men_ that continued to follow her around and try to propose marriage at every turn. Even the baker at the end of her road had managed to slip in an engagement ring into her loaf of bread last Thursday. She hadn’t returned there, and instead visited the next one along, where the baker was a drunk and left his daughters to bake and serve. The bread wasn’t as good, but at least she didn’t nearly choke to death on an 18 carat gold diamond ring smothered in peanut butter (which was soon to be rationed, she had learnt) every time she wanted toast.

Little did the nation know, but General Cosima Niehaus was actually entirely happy without the company of men. Little did the nation know, but Shea Armour was _also_ entirely happy without the company of men. Little did the nation know, but Shea and Cosima were both entirely happy with the secret arrangement that they had come to together, in which Cosima would sneak into Shea’s house through the service entrance under the guise of a post-boy (thank the Good Lady Brittania for Cosima’s short stature and very changeable face by a little cosmetics) and they would spend the night together.

Cosima considered herself quite the excellent lover - and Shea was inclined to agree.

It had turned out that Shea had also been invited to this meeting with Lady Lysistrata, and seeing as it was a Wednesday and broad daylight, Cosima had turned up at Shea’s front door ready to escort her to the meeting, today in the disguise of a young lady in mourning (which was not an uncommon sight these days). The black dress and obscuring veil did an excellent job of hiding Cosima’s face, and even if people had their suspicions, nobody would harass a mourning woman.

Once Shea was ready to leave, they left together, the actress also under the disguise of a mourning lady (for Shea had not escaped the attention of the press for being the face of Resistance in Britain after leading the Parade either), and headed to the Edinburgh Theatre where they were told the meeting would take place.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Upon their arrival at the theatre, Cosima could count at least thirty women entering as well. She did not recognise any of them, and her curiosity was piqued. Lady Lysistrata was known to be eccentric, but inviting common women to a tactical meeting was bordering on foolishness. Cosima kept her mouth shut, however, and was led into the house by a woman in a plain dress.

The theatre was exquisite – the decoration was grand, the stage’s rich red curtains falling down like a smooth, velvet waterfall from the painted ceiling, tableaus of dramatic scenes, most likely from Shakespeare or Milton, something to look at in pure wonder.

But Cosima was here for business (of some sort), so she remained on guard, still under the guise with Shea of mourning sisters, arm in arm.

They were given two tickets (surprisingly with their names on – someone had recognised them) and they found that their seats were very near the front, close to the stage and at the end of their row. _Easy access in and out of our seats,_ Cosima noted to herself.

A soon as they were seated on their busy row (the whole theatre was nearly full at this point), Cosima saw the curtains begin to part, revealing a single lectern on the stage. The spotlight came on, and Lady Lysistrata walked to centre stage, standing behind the grounded flag of mahogany wood. Voices hushed as Lysistrata cleared her throat for silence, but the house lights were not turned off. This was not a performance…this was a tactical meeting. Her strong received pronunciation rung throughout the theatre, capturing the attention of everyone there – every one of them women, Cosima noted. It was not something she was likely to miss.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlewomen. ‘Til a few weeks ago, I believed with all my heart and mind that our duty was to win this war. France betrayed our kinship, and we, as a nation, were very much devastated by this perfidy. Our Capital was left in ruins, forcing us to emigrate to the land of the bumpkins.” This caused a ripple of laughter through her audience, but it quietened down shortly afterwards. “I have, until very recently, changed my mind. I spoke to Lord Pippin today, and learnt of the dreadful news of the plans to ration Elevenses, Afternoon Tea and Nightcaps.” The women in the audience gasped. Cosima grunted. She was partial to a nightcap, herself. “These plans rattled me heartily, and I say that it is time to halt this lunacy. I say now, that it is our duty as women to stop this war, and I speak as a woman to other women, for we can bring it to an end.

“I do not want to talk of politics. Politics are a male invention. When men have interests that must be defended, they contrive a screen of words which they call a _policy_ , and if they can persuade a few…simpler…people that their screen is of general value, then they are ranked as _politicians._ But we are women, and our concern is not the defence of any clique or faction or vested interest. It is the defence and happiness of all humanity. A man may have many interests in life, and never know which is the greatest. But a woman, though she has as many interests as a man, always knows that her chief concern is with the preservation and reproduction of life itself, and with happiness, which is the only justification for life. We can be politicians, but only in our spare time. We can be theorists, but only in our moments of leisure. We are fundamentally and always, by reason of nature and our constitution, humanitarians and realists.”

There was a smattering of applause for her words, and she smiled, thanking the recognition of her words. Shea, who was warm-hearted and loved to be applauded herself, clapped enthusiastically, and an eccentric woman near the front clapped vigorously, leading the woman to clap a little more. The majority, however, were merely lukewarm. They seemed to be nervous about committing to something they were unsure about, for now.

“Nobody can deny,” Lysistrata continued, “that war is an evil thing. But many people, perhaps most people, believe that it is a necessary evil, and we have to put up with it. Well, to my mind, that is merely defeatism. Many things combine to create a war, and perhaps the most powerful of them all is stupidity. And when a war has been started, it is allowed to continue only because everyone gets more and more stupid the longer it lasts. We lose the habit of thinking for ourselves; we take a distorted view of things; we become inured to evil, and callous about human misery; we accept words like _loyalty_ and _patriotism_ as something holy and compulsive, and never stop to ask ourselves the proper object of loyalty, and the true path of patriotism; we forget what we really want, and believe what our leaders tell us we ought to want. I, however, do not believe that this stupidity and ignorance is incurable. I believe it _can_ be cured, and _now_ is the time to cure it. To effect a _real_ and _lasting_ and _radical_ cure. And you are the people who can do it.”

There were soft murmurings all around Cosima and Shea, women who were negating her comments, stating to their neighbours that they couldn’t fight for toffee and nobody there had been taught any ability to help in the first war effort. Cosima listened to Lysistrata curiously, desperate to know what plan the woman had in mind.

“I want you, for the net few minutes, to be thoroughly selfish. To think only of what war means to _you_ , and what it will mean to you for the rest of your lives. But if you’re going to be truly selfish, you must be _absolutely honest._ Will anyone here deny that our innermost desire is for happiness? We are all women – most of us are young women – and what we most often mean by happiness…is love.”

A couple of girls behind Cosima sighed romantically. Cosima raised an eyebrow but kept her eyes on Lysistrata. She held onto Shea’s hand, playing with her fingers under the puffy sleeves of their dresses.

“We all want a home and babies and the tenderness of a husband.” Cosima fought hard to stop the snort that nearly burst forth from the back of her nose. She sook with silent laughter and Shea struggled against the giggles too. They quickly got themselves back under control, thankfully their shakings looking like sobs to the woman who sat next to Shea, who patted them both on the shoulders consolingly, a look of empathy passed their way. They sobered up quickly.

“It is right and proper that this should be our desire. Our whole nature was so designed that a man’s love and the love of children should be our crying need and our deepest thought.” _Or the love of a beautiful woman sharing a bed with you at night_ , thought Cosima, still playing with Shea’s hand. “But what is the war doing to our husbands and the fathers of our children? It’s _killing_ them. They’re being _mutilated_ , and _ruined_ in health, and _killed._ ”

Again, murmurs rose up throughout the audience, like a ripple in a pond caused by a small pebbled dropped into the body of water.

“A generation after the last war which sustained terrible tragedy, we are in the midst of _another_ war that may last as long as the old one, a war that will leave another legacy of bitterness and starvation. The men are suffering today, but _we_ shall suffer tomorrow. We are young, and our lives are before us. But how shall we endure them if we are to be robbed of all that makes life dear to us? The men who are being killed are our lovers and the fathers of our children. It is _our_ happiness that is being thrown away on every battlefield. Our leaders say there can be no peace without victory, but this victory requires every one of us to lead miserable, solitary, wasted lives, never to feel the love of children we may have otherwise had. Is any victory worth such a price as that? Are you, my darling friends and companions, prepared to pay that price? Or…will you join together to bring the wickedness of war _for ever_ to an end?”

Lysistrata sat on a seat that had been placed a few feet away from the lectern, and one other woman walked onto the stage, carrying a chair of her own, joining Lysistrata. The audience fell into another round of applause, but still Cosima could tell that it was doubtful. Nobody understood what was being asked of them, really. The woman who had joined Lysistrata on stage came forward to the lectern and spoke herself. Her voice was scratchier than Lysistrata’s, but it was a little quieter, so easier to bear.

“My name is Lady Connie Hendrix, and I am an old friend of Lady Lysistrata’s. I’ve always had the greatest of respect for her charm and ability, and wondered why she never put them to more use. Well, when she came to me with her plans to stop this war, I was delighted, because she is now doing exactly that. She’s putting them to the noblest of causes. Upon hearing her detailed _plan of action_ , I said to her, “My darling, Lysistrata, you are a heaven-sent genius!” because she _is_ one. Her plan is sure, safe, and simple. There is not a man in the whole of Great Britain – or the whole _world_ for that matter, who can stand up against it.”

Cosima leant forward. Surely there was no plan so fool proof. Nothing a small army of women could do, at any rate. Women without weapons, ranks or strategy.

“I am sure that all of you have heard Lysistrata’s words with open minds, and agree with her that this war cannot go on, for they shall ration our Elevenses, but soon after they shall be rationing our breakfasts, lunches, dinners _and_ late suppers, and we must all act before this can be allowed to happen. In a moment, Lady Lysistrata will tell you her plan, and explain how we shall go about stopping this war before it goes too far.” Lady Connie nodded her thanks for the patience of the audience and extended an arm towards Lysistrata, who swapped places with her contemporary.

“Before I speak, there is a guest in the audience who has something to say to you all. Please welcome Shea Armour.” Cosima looked to her left, confused. Had Shea known about this all along? The actress winked at her, and removed her black veil, walking up the steps to the stage, welcomed by a stampede of applause. Here was someone who could convince these women into agreeing to Lysistrata’s plans. _Maybe Lysistrata isn’t so foolish after all,_ Cosima thought to herself. She clearly knew how to work a crowd.

“Thank you for your very warm reception, ladies and gentlewomen. Or do you mind if I call you dears and darlings?” She beamed at the women in the audience, who clapped animatedly in response. Cosima smirked.

“I don’t want to make a long speech,” she said, “because I’m not really very good at making speeches, and I don’t think it’s all that necessary anyway, for both Ladies Lysistrata and Connie were entirely captivating speakers. My words shall hardly add to what they had to say, but Lady Lysistrata was kind enough to offer me the opportunity to speak my mind to you all, which I shall happily do. All I want to say is that Lady Lysistrata knows of a way to stop this dreadful conflict between us and France, and I am with her all the way. I’ve got a sweetheart right now who is working tirelessly in the defence of our country, and if anything should happen to my sweet darling, I think I would die.”

Cosima blushed and was very grateful for the veil she had, covering her face.

“I do not want to die, and I am sure that none of you do, either. I want to live, love, and be happy. Well, I suppose that that is a very small and selfish view to take of things, but nearly every woman has the same view about somebody, and if we all get together and say honestly what we think and hope, then our view is going to be the biggest in the world. And the most sensible, as well. So I ask you all to express your confidence in Lady Lysistrata and say that you’ll help her to stop this horrid war before it’s too late. Thank you.” She curtsied, and stepped down from the stage to the audience of women crying, sniffling and cheering at her words. Cosima laughed at them, amazed at what a little bit of fame could do for a cause. Lysistrata definitely knew what she was doing.

The woman in question stepped forwards once more just as Shea returned to her seat next to Cosima smiling cheekily at her.

“Dear Darlings of Britain...now is the time for me to reveal my plan to stop the war.” Lysistrata waited for a moment of silence before she continued. “I propose a Love Strike.”

There was, yet again, a wave of susurration throughout the audience as women discussed among themselves what it could possibly mean.

“This plan involves a denial of our lovers, sweethearts and husbands, any physical contact until they decide to begin negotiations to stop the war-”

Women spoke among themselves louder and louder until Lysistrata had to shout over them to be heard.

“I beg of you to hear my words through. There shall be ample opportunity for discussion at the end of my speech, but for now, please remain steadfast in your attention. Thank you.” She breathed, clearly relieved that the women had settled down just enough for her to finish. “It cannot be denied that men who come home from the front want one thing in particular – I shan’t name it, for decency’s sake, but you all know what I am talking about. Many of you have husbands and sweethearts who are very high up in the army, and this can be used for our benefit – the more women we have to deny men the physical contact they crave when they come home on leave, the sooner negotiations shall begin to stop the war! Please, fellow women, follow me in my plans to deny men the pleasures of the flesh, and bring this foul conflict to an end!”

Lysistrata may not have had everyone’s attention at that moment in time, but she most certainly had Cosima’s. Maybe Lysistrata wasn’t a fool at all…no, maybe she was – as Lady Connie had said – an _absolute genius!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Reader,
> 
> Were you expecting that?  
> Can you see where this is going?  
> Is it glaringly obvious what shall happen now?  
> *wink* *wink* *triple wink*
> 
> HermioneSpencer


	4. "Oh, These Men, These Men!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, these men, these men!  
> Dost thou in conscience think—tell me, Emilia—  
> That there be women do abuse their husbands  
> In such gross kind?"  
> ~Othello, William Shakespeare

Lord Pippin had invited his closest friends to Number 10 Upping Street to have a celebratory farewell lunch for the meals that would have to have rations put in place upon them come the dawn of next week.  These friends were actually just men from the Cabinet – for Pippin was a lonely soul – but they all got along well enough when an inelegant sufficiency of alcohol was placed upon the dining table in front of them.  The crystal decanters proved to be just enough distraction for each Cabinet minister in between glancing at their most hated counterparts.  Nevertheless, this was war, and nobody there was willing to bite their thumbs at free food, provided by their bumbling, fumbling, and grumbling Prime Minister.

Felix Dawkins, aide to Lord Pippin, had elected to pass on the lunch.  His interests certainly did not lie in toasting with the geriatric men in the dining hall… no, they lay in lying with his favourite of the house servants…  Colin.  He was the best butler that Upping or Downing Street had ever seen.  This interest was an activity that Felix was currently very – deeply – involved in.  Today though, he was not lying down at all.  The airing cupboard proved to be just enough space for the both of them and they were quite content to remain there for as long as the lunch upstairs took place.

Felix was, therefore, quite unhappy when he had to pause in his affections for the sake of Colin (as he was the butler) needing to answer the door, which someone was knocking on frantically. 

It heralded a Sergeant who had an urgent message for the Prime Minister.

Irked, Felix demanded to know the message before granting him audience with Lord Pippin, because he liked knowing things sooner than his superior did.

“I’m sorry, sir… but I was told to go _straight_ to Lord Pippin.  Colonel Scrymgeour demanded it!”

“I am his aide, Sergeant.  I speak and think for him – usually all of the time.”  Felix was not willing to relent, and neither was the bulge in his pants.  Oh, how he desperately wanted to return to the closet with the butler who stood at his side, also trying hard to conceal that which proved the ardour of his own appetite. 

“Very good, sir.  As I said, it’s a message from the Colonel Scrymgeour.”

“Well then, what _is_ it, man?”  Felix nearly shouted at him, desperate to return to his former antics. 

“Oh, um, yes.  The women.  The women have taken control of Parliament!”

“What women?”

“ _The_ women!”

“Yes I understand _women_ ,” this comment caused Colin to snort but the Sergeant didn’t notice it, as Felix was growing red in the face, “but _which_ of them?  The Suffragettes?  The Suffragists?  The prostitutes?”  Felix was exasperated.

“ _All_ of them, sir!  They banded together and took Edinburgh Castle in the dead of night!  They’re all working together – even the _bumpkins!_ ”

“Good God, the bumpkins, too?  Well, this certainly is important news.  Who would have believed that the English and Scottish could work together?  They’ve done more than the ancient relics upstairs ever managed.  Well, I hate to disturb Lord Pippin during lunch, but I think this deserves to be heard by the entire Cabinet.  Follow me.”

Felix pushed him up the stairs to the dining hall and opened the door for him.  He threw the Sergeant in and shut the door behind him.  He hurried away with Colin, this time heading to the beehives at the bottom of the garden where they reignited their search for the stings of wasps, tails and tongues.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

“What is the meaning of this interruption, boy?  Who are you?” Lord Pippin demanded of the Sergeant who had just fallen into his dining room, landing on the lap of the Exchequer after having tripped on his own boots. 

“Golly, sir, my apologies.  I am Sergeant Goody and I have an urgent message from Colonel Scrymgeour!”

“Well then, out with it you hag-born cur!  Tell us and bugger off!  We are saying farewell to the love of cake.  It’s War!” Lord Pippin slurred, as the decanter in front of him grew frightfully empty.  He was aggressive in his drunkenness.

“Yes, sir!  Colonel Scrymgeour arrived at Parliament this morning to find it blocked; cordoned off.”

“Speak _up_ , boy!  I am not as young as I used to be and my hearing organs cannot prick up as sharply as they once did.”

“Oh- well, I have a letter for you!”

“Well, hand it _over_ then!  Goodness, Goodman Goody you are a good example of a goodly grown goose.  Stop your dithering and _give it to me!_ ”

Sergeant Goody hurried forward and placed the letter he retrieved from inside his jacket into the hands of his abuser.  Once Lord Pippin had it in his hands, he cracked the seal open and squinted at the words that had been typed onto the paper.  He began to read.

“‘Dear Lord Pippin and Cabinet,

"‘We, and the other Women of Britain, have come to the conclusion that your tomfoolery is damaging to our health as a nation.’”  He looked up at the Sergeant, eyebrows drawn together (which wasn’t difficult for him; his monobrow was quite a spectacular advertisement for the merits of a Cyclopean mien).

“Have you come here with the intention of telling us all that Colonel Scrymgeour has written this letter, in which he claims to be a member of the female sex?”

The Sergeant turned fifty shades of red in under fifty milliseconds, but he recovered just as quickly.

“Heavens no, Lord Pippin!  Colonel Scrymgeour was given the letter _by_ the women to send to _you_.” 

“Ah, very good then.”  He continued to read the letter to the Cabinet.  “‘Your decision to continue the war despite our discussions on this matter has forced our hand.  We respect the land in which we live too much to see it destroyed by your obstetric behaviour.’ Oh, no, pardon me, ‘by your _obstreperous_ behaviour.  Which is why we, and the other Women of Britain, have set in motion a Love Strike.  We have taken Edinburgh Castle (which was far too easy, if you ask us), and we do not intend to give it back until you stop fighting this war.  We will not return from the Castle, we will not pop home to feed the children, and we shall _not_ be returning for you to pop into every night.  We have, moreover, in order to facilitate our task and to show the solidarity of women all over the country, taken possession in various towns, of several strongholds or key-positions that induce our satisfaction, and established garrisons in them. 

"'We _demand_ that you end this war, and we shall not stop our Love Strike until you are forced to pop yourselves off to France and apologise for being so stupid in the first place as to send such a ridiculous amount of money to Germany.  Do not think that our resolve shall fail.  Do not think that persuasive tactics and promises of very _large_ gifts shall lure us out of our Strike; we want only one thing, and that is the end of using our husbands, lovers, sweethearts, son, uncles and brothers as cannon fodder for your war.  Therefore, you had better hurry up and give that to us.

“‘We hope that this letter finds you in good health and that you are all enjoying your lunch.

“‘Yours Sincerely,

“‘Lady Lysistrata Scrymgeour, Lady Connie Hendrix, General Cosima Niehaus.

“‘P.S.  Watch out for the decanters.  We mixed a little something in with your brandy.  You shan’t wake up until tomorrow.  That’s what you get for trying to dissolve our Elevenses.’”

No sooner had he finished reading that postscript, Lord Pippin began to feel very woozy.  His brain lurched forwards and backwards and side to side, creating a turbulent, dizzying little merry-go-round that quite took him by surprise.  Nearly every other man in that dining hall experienced exactly the same thing, apart from one man.  Sergeant Goody.  Who was, in fact, so stressed by the sight of the whole of Parliament slumping to the table in their chairs in unison that he left Number 10 Upping Street running, and shouting something about how he was “absolutely done with old age and drooping chairs.”


End file.
